Harry Potter and the Right of Passage
by taibhsear
Summary: sixth year opens with a bang! Harry & Crew must survive another year, with lessons, quidditch, etc
1. Back to Grimmauld Place

The longest, hottest day of summer was drawing to a close. The sunburned residents of Privet Drive abandoned their parched lawns and withdrew, complaining, into the cool mercy of air-conditioned homes. Evening shaded into night and the street lamps began to glow, casting Privet Drive beneath a blanket of light and shadow.  
  
The residents of number four were gathered in the parlor. Vernon Dursley was complaining, as usual. Tonight, it was about how the British population didn't know a good drill when they saw one. Petunia was grousing about her poor, dying gardens and about the hosepipe ban. Their son, Dudley, was moaning about everything and nothing. They all pointedly ignored the teenage boy sitting by the stairs, not taking part in the group griping.  
  
Weary of the Dursleys' whining, Harry walked upstairs to his room and threw himself onto his bed, looking about dispassionately. At the foot of his bed lay an open trunk, empty. Sets of robes hung neatly in the closet. A broomstick lay on a shelf, a servicing kit hanging from the handle. A cauldron sat in a corner, an empty birdcage on top of the dresser. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, was out hunting at the moment. A stack of books were placed by his bed.  
  
On top of the pile lay an open photo album. This album, like the other books, was as unusual as the rest of his room, for the pictures were moving. A man and a woman were waving at him, beaming. Harry ignored the images of his dead parents. He focused instead on the man who stood with him.  
  
He was handsome, waving and laughing. The man had no idea that his life would take a dark and treacherous road, beginning with the death of the couple beside him. That same road would come to an abrupt end because of that couple's son, one Harry James Potter.  
  
Sirius. Harry's heart twisted with grief even as he burned with guilt. For a moment, it felt as though some huge, horrible beast within was clawing at him, and hot tears came to his eyes. Finally, he regained control, slamming the album shut as thought it caged the monster. Harry had to control his emotions, had to stay calm.  
  
It was his emotions that had led him to the Department of Mysteries. There, he had led his friends into danger and his godfather to his death. Never again, he vowed silently. Never again would he allow his emotions to rule him. He wondered if such a life was worth living. No happiness, no joy, just existence. However, there would be no grief, guilt, or pain, either. If he had done this from the start, then Sirius would still be alive.  
  
Snape had been right all along, Harry thought bitterly. Snape had told him that fools who wore their hearts proudly on their sleeves would find themselves easy prey for Voldemort. Harry had not listened, had not heeded. In consequence, he had found himself horribly easy prey, indeed.  
  
Harry frowned suddenly. If he kept brooding, then he would dream tonight. He had found that if he worked hard during the day, he was less likely to dream. So far, Harry had cleaned Hedwig's cage, dusted the shelves, and done his homework three times over. He had drawn up some Quidditch plays that he was looking forward to showing the next Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, planned a syllabus for the DA, and studied from advanced Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions texts that he had sent for by owl order. He laughed to himself, picturing Ron and Hermione's reactions if they knew how hard he had been studying. Hermione, he knew, would be thrilled.  
  
"Oh Harry, I knew you'd come around. I was worried that you wouldn't start studying until next summer!" she would beam, and then drag him off to the library for research.  
  
Ron, however, would be less pleased.  
  
"Harry, have you gone round the twist? Term hasn't even started yet. I knew Hermione would corrupt you." he would say, incredulous, and then drag Harry off to play Quidditch.  
  
Harry sighed, shaking himself out of his daydream. He resumed his search for something to do. He briefly considered helping Aunt Petunia clean up. Two days ago, he had weeded the garden (it seemed that the only things flourishing during the drought were weeds) and helped clean the house.  
  
The Dursleys, far from appreciating his help, interrogated him, and then watched him as though waiting for him to blow something up. They had treated him oddly so far. Most of the time, Uncle Vernon pretended that Harry didn't exist, although his face colored whenever he saw him. Aunt Petunia treated him like a bomb that might go off without a moment's notice. Dudley refused to be anywhere near Harry, as if he would be attacked by dementors if he so much as looked at Harry. Although this treatment was improved over last year's (he now could watch the news without interruption), it had become quite depressing.  
  
Finally, Harry's gaze landed on his broomstick. McGonagall had sent it the night after he returned to Privet Drive, along with a note that his lifetime Quidditch ban had been lifted. Harry had not even touched it. Sirius had given the Firebolt to Harry, and it was his pride and joy. Now he thought of Sirius whenever he saw it. Harry took the Firebolt from the shelf and began to polish the mahogany handle, trimming the streamlined birch twigs.  
  
There was a swoosh of wings and Hedwig soared through the open window, followed by a sleek barn owl and a handsome screech owl, who carried a thick packet in its beak. Recognizing the seal, Harry took the parchment. The letter was from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which Harry attended. He began to read eagerly.  
  
Dear Mr. Potter,- Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his wrist. The barn owl pecked him again, clearly anxious to deliver its letter. Harry remembered when he had ordered Hedwig to peck Ron and Hermione until they wrote back to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that this owl would continue to nag him until he read the letter currently tied to its leg. He took the letter and watched as the barn owl preened its feathers in a self-congratulatory way and soar off into the night. Rubbing his wrist, Harry dropped his eyes to the parchment and read.  
  
Harry, something's happened. Tonks, Mad-Eye, and I will be there in half an  
hour.  
Pack all of your things; we're taking you to London. Be ready  
-Moony  
  
A cold, icy feeling settled into Harry's stomach. Remus Lupin was the last of the Marauders, a group of trouble-making friends consisting of Remus, Wormtail, Sirius, and James, Harry's father. Of course, Wormtail still lived, but Harry hardly considered the traitor who sold Harry's parents to Voldemort a Marauder. Lupin had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in Harry's third year and continued to be a sort of mentor to Harry. The fact that Lupin was a werewolf (hence his nickname, Moony) did not matter in the slightest. Harry packed his things as quickly as he could without using magic, tucking the Hogwarts letter in his trunk. Then he picked up his Firebolt, stuck his wand in his pocket, and lugged his trunk downstairs. The resultant thuds made the Dursleys look up. Dudley lumbered from the room as quickly as his legs could carry him. Uncle Vernon's face turned purple, a common occurrence whenever he saw Harry. "Where do you think you're going, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon. His tiny, vicious eyes bored into Harry like one of his drills.  
  
"I'm going; they are coming to pick me up." said Harry. There was no need to explain who "they" were. Uncle Vernon remembered the meeting at Kings Cross all too well. Uncle Vernon paled, and then turned puce.  
  
"Don't get anyone else killed then, like your nasty, layabout, convict godfather." he said nastily, turning back to the television set.  
  
Harry froze, staring at him. Something was beginning to move within, rage seared through his veins. The inhuman calm Harry had displayed all summer shattered as Harry exploded.  
  
"HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT! HE WAS A BETTER MAN THAN YOU'LL EVER BE, DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT!"  
  
Shaking, Harry drew a breath. The Dursleys stared at him, stunned. Uncle Vernon didn't know what to make of Harry. He could cow the small boy, bully the insolent teen, but not a young man was screaming at him and glowing faintly.  
  
Harry could barely see properly, he was so furious. All thoughts of controlling his emotions had gone up in flames. Everything he had ever wanted to say to the Dursleys, all the hate and contempt he had held for them for the past fifteen years came boiling to the surface. He was nearly choking on his fury. He was dimly aware that he was glowing slightly and guessed that that was why the Dursleys weren't giant slugs or something.  
  
"YOU ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE, NEVER A KIND WORD, SNIVELLING BULLIES, GITS." Harry trailed off.  
  
He felt as though he was seeing his relatives for the first time, and perhaps he was. During his self-imposed isolation this summer, he had done a great deal of thinking. He had sent short notes to the Order as promised and horribly cheerful notes to Ron and Hermione. Harry had become so skilled at building his own façade that he could see the facades of others.  
  
Now he saw the Dursleys as they were, without the masks they wore to face the rest of the world and to face themselves. In the Dursleys, Harry saw only ignorance, fear, and jealousy. Vernon Dursley hated because he feared. He feared magic because he did not understand it. He hated Harry because Harry was a living representation of the magic he feared. Aunt Petunia despised Harry because he was a reminder of her sister, Lily. Lily, who had shone so brightly that she forever cast Petunia into shadow. Dudley hated because he had been taught to hate. His mind was clay, shaped by Vernon's fear and Petunia's jealousy, with all of their hate. Harry suddenly felt as old as Dumbledore. He was still angry, but felt a stab of pity. His voice became quieter, but no less forceful. Harry would not tolerate any slurs on Sirius. "Sirius was like a big brother, best friend, and father. Don't you EVER talk about him." A soft knock on the door caused him to wheel around. In his temper, he had forgotten about Moony's impending arrival. He raised his wand and moved to the door, noting that he was no longer glowing. The Dursleys, still in shock, stayed in the parlor. "Who is it?" he called, wanting to be sure. "Harry, it's Moony." Came the swift response. "Password?" Harry asked, grinning. There was a moment's silence before Lupin replied. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."  
  
Harry opened the door, wand still at the ready. Lupin, Moody, and Tonks stood there, etched in light from the street lamps. Harry smiled; glad to see the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the resistance group Dumbledore had recalled two years before. Tonks, who could change her appearance at will, currently had blindingly neon yellow hair and wore an equally bright yellow "Weird Sisters" shirt with baggy, artfully ripped jeans. Harry suspected that she was trying to stir up as much trouble for the Dursleys as she could and still get away with it. However, there was no enthusiasm in her "wotcher, Harry!" and her eyes were red like she had been crying. Mad-Eye Moody eyed him with his dark, beady eye. His fake eye, a vivid electric blue, was busily scanning the neighborhood. "Nice one, Potter. Clever idea to set up that password." remarked Moody. The Ex-Auror was notoriously paranoid and a fanatic of "Constant Vigilance!" Remus Lupin was smiling at Harry. He was very pale and looked tired and ill, his hair almost completely gray. His face was lined and grave. Moody's badly scarred face looked as wooden as his leg. "Get your trunk, Harry." said Lupin quietly. Harry obeyed quickly. The Dursleys were not in evidence. Harry knew he would pay dearly for his outburst, but didn't care. When he returned, they went out into the garden. Tonks harnessed Harry's trunk to her broom and waited for Harry. As he mounted his Firebolt he felt a twinge of panic. He had not flown for so long and the weather was getting rough. He pushed off hard, and his worries and cares remained on the ground behind him, this freedom was wonderful. After a few moments, he concentrated on keeping his broom steady into the wind. What with the wind and frequent detours (dictated by Moody as protection against a tail), the flight was even longer than last year's. Harry was shivering and his hands and ears ached with cold when they finally touched down outside Grimmauld Place.  
The neighborhood had not changed. The stereo in number eleven was booming, and number thirteen was silent. Harry stared at the tiny space between the two houses. His throat felt constricted. This was Sirius's home, number 12, Grimmauld Pla-  
Suddenly a front door appeared between houses eleven and thirteen. A house swiftly followed, shrugging the others aside. The muggles who inhabited number eleven didn't notice a thing; the stereo blasted on. Harry slowly went up the walk and entered number twelve, Lupin's hand on his shoulder.  
  
The hall had changed enormously. Gone were most of the Dark objects, included the house elf heads that had once decorated the passage. Harry stiffened, he had forgotten about Kreacher, the mad house elf who had betrayed Sirius to the Malfoys. "I'm so glad that thrice-blasted umbrella stand is gone." muttered Tonks, inadvertently distracting Harry from thoughts of bloody revenge. Harry was hard put to suppress a grin. The aforementioned umbrella stand had been Tonk's bane. The clumsy Metamorphagus had always tripped over it and set off the portraits. The portraits glared balefully at them, but did not speak. They had clearly been put under a Silencing Charm and were very unhappy about it. There was the clatter of running footsteps and Hermione burst into the hall. Harry had a blurred glimpse of bushy brown hair before she threw her arms around him and began sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry began to panic, what had reduced Hermione, wise, self-possessed Hermione, to tears? He looked for Ron, frantic. Ron was standing just beyond Hermione. "Good to see you, mate." he said hoarsely. "Lets go." he led the way upstairs. The trip upstairs was silent. Harry's heartbeat drummed in his ears. When they reached Ron's room, Harry wheeled to face his best friends. "What's going on?" he demanded. Ron exchanged glances with a sniffling Hermione, and she told him. Hagrid was dead, killed on work for the Order. Harry reeled as his world collapsed around him. Hermione began to weep again, and Harry and Ron hugged her. Together, they let their tears fall. 


	2. Return to Hogwarts

****

Return to Platform 9 3/4s

On September 1st, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were bundled off to King's Cross. Their stay at Grimmauld Place had been quiet. Harry's birthday had not gone unnoticed, however. Ron had given Harry an updated broomstick servicing kit, and Hermione had given Harry a copy of the Auror handbook. Everyone had given him something; Mrs. Weasley and Lupin, a box of sweets; Tonks, a subscription to _Quidditch Weekly_, and Moody, a holster for his wand. The best gift of all had been a large basket of wares from the twin's joke-shop, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Harry appreciated this greatly. 

They reached King's Cross without incident. Mrs. Weasley hugged everybody, but seemed distracted. Moody pushed the trolley as before, eyes shifting from beneath a thoroughly sinister-looking bowler hat. The muggles around him gave him a wide berth, something that Harry privately found rather amusing. Harry was fairly sure that Tonks was disguised as the heavy set woman in pearls who was discreetly tailing him. The woman seemed to stumble and bump into things a great deal. When they reached platform nine, his suspicions were confirmed as she strode past with a whispered "Wotcher, Harry!"

Everyone looked a little pale as they crossed the barrier. The scarlet Hogwarts Express was surrounded by students. The noise was incredible. Students were calling out to friends, describing their holidays, and squabbling over seats. Cats meowed and owls hooted to each other in a resigned fashion and prefects were vainly attempting to attain some form of order. 

Harry and the others soon found an empty compartment and settled in. Harry's face was burning. The Daily Prophet had been praising Harry to the skies all summer, a fact clearly not lost on his classmates. The combination of greetings, waves, and the first year's awestruck stares made him as self-conscious and annoyed as ever. 

After dropping off their things, Ron and Hermione headed to the Prefect's carriage and Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood entered. Luna promptly tucked her wand behind her ear, pulled out a copy of _The Quibbler_, and started reading it upside down.

Neville, however, was different. His round, pleasant face was thinner and he had grown a few inches. He looked more capable and confident.

"Hey Harry! Look at this!" Neville pulled out a wand. "Chestnut and Phoenix feather." he said proudly. "I finally have my own wand, and I reckon I'll do better with it than I ever did with Dad's"

Harry vividly recalled the occasion when Neville's old wand had snapped. A Death Eater had kicked Neville in the face while they fought. He had not only splintered Neville's wand, but shattered his nose as well. Madame Pomfrey had mercifully healed Neville's rose.

An hour passed in companiable silence. No one mentioned the Department of Mysteries, no one needed to. When the doors slid open, Harry looked up, expecting to see Ron and Hermione. Instead, Draco Malfoy stood on the threshold, glaring at him.

A surge of hatred ripped through Harry at the mere sight of Malfoy. He had loathed the Slytherin since first year, and their mutual hatred had only grown since then, increasing exponentially last year. Malfoy had gotten Harry banned from Quidditch, and Harry had put Malfoy's father in the Wizarding prison, Azkaban. Harry gripped he wand, not taking his eyes off Malfoy, who lounged insolently against the door. Through the glass, Harry could see two massive shadows guarding the door. They were Malfoy's cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

"Well Potty, it appears you lasted another summer." Malfoy drawled. "Let's see…Looney Lovegood, Longbottom, and little Weasley…a fine cast of little friends. Looney, Longbottom who causes devastation with the simplest charms, and hmm…" his cold gray eyes gleamed maliciously, settling on a red-faced Ginny. "Baby Weasel. Wait, your supporting cast is short a few, isn't it, Potty? Where are the Mudblood and Weasel King? What about your favorite mutt and your half-breed friend?

Harry surged to his feet, wand aimed. To his surprise, Neville jumped up as well, wand at the ready. Ginny and Luna leapt forth also, and Malfoy looked apprehensively at Ginny, one eye trained on Harry.

"You'll pay for putting my father in Azkaban, so watch your back, Potty." he sneered, then left quickly.

Harry sat, fighting to control his anger. All at once, all the glass in the compartment splintered, a spider web of cracks threading across the window's surface. Harry closed his eyes and thought of Quidditch, shutting his mind off to all else. When he opened his eyes, Ginny was still staring at the door, indignant.

"I swear, if he comes back in here, I will put a hex on him that will make the last one seem like child's play!" she stormed.

Harry laughed in spite of himself. Neville and Luna, now sure that Harry had regained control, joined in. Last year, Ginny had gotten Malfoy with an extremely powerful Bat Bogey Hex. It had apparently been quite a spectacle, but Harry and Hermione were busy getting rid of Umbridge. Still smiling, Harry repaired the glass in the windows. He felt like he had done a Cheering Charm on himself.

As he finished, Ron and Hermione came in. Ron immediately fell upon the snacks and devoured a pumpkin pasty in two bits. Hermione, however, fixed Harry with a stare that reminded Harry eerily of Professor McGonagall.

"All right Harry, let's hear it." she commanded.

"Hear what?" he frowned, trying to think of whatever Hermione might be interested in. "Oh! Malfoy came in but Ginny-"

"No Harry! Your OWLS! How were your marks?" Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Oh…" A light began to dawn. He had forgotten about the Hogwarts letter he had received the day he left Privet Drive. Tonks and Hestia Jones had done the shopping in Diagon Alley, as Dumbledore considered it too dangerous for the others to go. 

"I haven't opened them yet, hang on…" he rummaged in his trunk, and then pulled out the letter. His hands were trembling. With a swift prayer, he broke the seal and read, Hermione and Ron looking over his shoulder. 

_Dear Mr. Potter, _

I am pleased to send the results of your OWLS (Ordinary Wizarding Levels) The grading system reads: O for Outstanding

E for Exceeds Expectations, A for Acceptable, P for Poor, D for 

Dreadful, and T for Troll. Your results are as follows.

~Ordinary Wizarding Levels~

Defense Against the Dark Arts Written O* Practical O*

Herbology Written O Practical O

Charms Written O* Practical O

Transfiguration Written O Practical O

Care of Magical Creatures Practical O*

Potions Written E Practical O

History of Magic Written D

Divination Practical P

Astronomy Practical E

Congratulations, Mr. Potter. If you have a * next to an O, 

Please be aware that it denotes a perfect score.

Sincerely, 

Griselda Marchbanks

"Twelve OWLS Harry!" Hermione shrieked and hugged him.

Harry was still staring at the parchment. DADA O*, Transfiguration O, Charms O, Potions O. He had scraped the OWLS required to become an Auror, a Dark wizard catcher. He looked at Hermione.

"How were your marks?"

"Sixteen, although I scored an E on Astronomy." she beamed, looking again at Harry's letter. "You outscored me in DADA, though. How were your marks, Ron?"

Ron looked strangely uncomfortable. "Lets leave it with I had better concentrate on Quidditch." he pulled his results out of his pocket and handed them to Harry, then looked determinedly out the window, the tips of his ears reddening. Harry dropped his eyes to the parchment and read silently. Ron had scored Os in DADA, Potions, and Charms, and an E and an O in Transfiguration. Other than that, Ron's work was scattered Ps and an A. 

"That's excellent Ron!" said Harry. "Look, you've got the OWLS to be an Auror!"

"You did much better than I did." ventured Neville. "Mind you, I knew it was off when I sent Professor Tofty zooming into the wall, and it didn't help when I turned my teacup into a squirrel…"

The rest of the trip was spent recounting OWL errors and laughing. They all changed into their Hogwarts robes and cleaned themselves up as best as they could, talking animatedly as they went. As the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, Harry felt a pang of grief. He would never hear Hagrid boom "Firs' Years, this way!" again. Instead, the now familiar voice of Professor Grubbly-Plank rang out, calling the first years for their traditional trip across the lake. Harry and the others quickly found one of the carriages that would take them up to the castle. The carriages were drawn by thestrels, winged reptilian horses. The thestrels, invisible to anyone who had not seen someone die, had come in especially useful last year. 

Harry stared blindly out the window as the carriage began its swaying progress toward the castle. Thoughts of Hagrid and thestrels had led to thoughts of Sirius, and the prophecy. According to Dumbledore and the prophecy, he would have to kill Voldemort or _be_ killed by Voldemort. Harry had not told his friends about the prophecy; he had not desire whatsoever to see their reactions. He considered one part of the prophecy. _And he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not._ What kind of power could he possible have that Voldemort did not possess? He could never duel with Voldemort. Harry had watched Voldemort and Dumbledore duel. Voldemort had more spells and sheer magical power at his disposal than Harry could even dream of. Also, their wand would not work properly against each other, since the cores of both consisted of feathers from Dumbledore's Phoenix, Fawkes. Harry looked around to find the others staring at him.

"Harry, we're here." said Ron, looking a bit uncertain.

"Oh, Right." replied Harry, and he climbed out of the carriage, picking up Hedwig's cage as he went. 


	3. The Sorting

****

The Sorting

Hogwarts rose before them, as magnificent as ever. Harry beamed, for the castle was home to him. Leaving the assorted pets with the luggage, they hurried to the Great Hall. There, Luna left them with a vague "Goodbye, Ronald." and proceeded to the Ravenclaw table, while the Gryffindors headed to their own table.

Harry seated himself next to Ron and Hermione before looking up at the staff table. Dumbledore was chatting pleasantly with Sprout, the short, dumpy witch who taught Herbology. Snape was scowling as though the holidays had ended far too soon. Flitwick was deep in discussion with the Arithmancy witch. Grubbly-Plank was still escorting the first years across the lake and no doubt McGonagall was waiting to receive them. The new DADA professor's seat was empty"Wonder who the new DADA teacher is?" mused Hermione.

"Ron, did you hear anything?" asked Harry. Ron's family was extremely active in the Order and in frequent contact with Dumbledore and other members of the Hogwarts staff.

"Not a word," grumbled Ron. "Mum, Dad, and even the twins know, but they won't tell. They just told me to wait. The twins did say I would like the new professor, but Mum heard and threatened to put a Silencing Charm on them if they said anything else."

The group paused as professor McGonagall led the new first years into the Hall. Once again, Harry recalled his own Sorting. Most of the new students looked just as terrified as he had felt.

Flitwick carried the Sorting hat into the room and set it on a stool. Patched and frayed, the filthy hat was silent. Then, it twitched and a wide rip near the brim gaped as the hat began to sing.

__

Once four friends had a heart to heart

And decided a school to start

Young witches and wizards they would teach

Gathering those with values prized to each

Brave Gryffindor liked those as bold as he

For him audacity and daring was the key

Clever Ravenclaw loved those of inquiring mind

Those who sought knowledge, her heart would also find

Sweet Hufflepuff adored those who were loyal

Her favorites are true and unafraid of toil

Sly Slytherin prized those of a cunning mind

With him ambitious souls always found their kind

At first the Hogwarts Four taught as friends

Then a rift between them began to rend

Until as last open dissent sounded

As brother upon brother rounded

Now a thousand years have passed and gone

Still, none have mended the ancient wrong

Now a threat looms once more

Slytherin must battle Gryffindor

Yet these two heroes are dead

Now the heirs fight in their stead

One more warning I give to all

If divided we stand, then divided we shall surely fall

The hat gave its customary bow to the House tables and fell silent. Intense whispering swept the Hall as students speculated on the hat's latest song. It took a particularly ominous glare from McGonagall to silence the restless students. She stepped forward and called.

"Allan, Gregory!" a short boy walked to the stool, plainly terrified, and sat as McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" bellowed the hat. The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers as Gregory Allen hurried to the table.

"Batterton, Leslie!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Harry quickly tuned out the Sorting, thinking about the song. Voldemort was the Heir of Slytherin. Was he, Harry, the Heir of Gryffindor?

"Evans, Mark!"

Harry's head snapped up. A smallish boy was walking toward the hat. Harry knew that name…the night the Dementors came, him cheeking Dudley about boxing…Mark Evans lived on Privet Drive! Harry watched intently as the tiny boy's face all but disappeared under the hat. There was a long pause.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat roared. Harry stood and cheered with the other Gryffindors as Mark Evans joined the table.

The Sorting continued and the line of new students began to dwindle. Ron was looking longingly at his empty plate. Finally, Flitwick carried the silent Sorting hat from the Hall. Dumbledore rose to his feet.

"Let the feast begin." he said simply. At once, food appeared on the plates and pumpkin juice filled the goblets. Ron let out a strangled cheer and fell upon the food. Harry followed suit, slightly less desperately. Hermione let out a disdainful sniff.

"Whoever the DADA professor it, they're even later than Crouch" she remarked.

"Let's hope he's not like Crouch then." Harry said darkly. "One homicidal maniac teacher was quite enough, thanks."

"'mon 'arry, maybe 'is one 'on't be 'ad" mumbled Ron through a mouthful of shepherd's pie.

Hermione managed to look revolted, exasperated, and partly resigned at the same time. "Ron, how can you possibly expect us to understand you?"

Ron swallowed with what looked like a huge effort to Harry. "I said, come on Harry, maybe this one won't be bad" he said, speaking with exaggerated emphasis. "Of course, in five years we've had a traitor, a conceited git, a lunatic Death Eater, and a sadist. Even Lupin was a werewolf, and he was our best teacher! Hate to say it mate, but odds are against this one." Ron said, shaking his head as he returned to his pie.

Hermione's retort was cut off as Dumbledore rose to his feet.


End file.
